


Desperately Wanting

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [38]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: M/M, Slash, language.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 05:06:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13697475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: Arthur takes Lance to the airport pre-Rome trip.  College years.





	Desperately Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> title courtesy of Better Than Ezra.
> 
> Editing this as I go and continuing to try and post more frequently. Again, this series was written out of order and I may continue to post it that way.

“You don’t have to come in with me, you know.”

Arthur sighed for what felt like the tenth time as he slid the gearshift into park. He leaned into Lance as he reached into the back of the car, the tiny Toyota cramped and crowded, Lance’s luggage competing with Arthur’s extra jacket and helmet to fill the seats. He grabbed the handle of Lance’s carryon, and jerked it with him as he shoved out of the car.

“I know. We’ve discussed this already. Do you have your passport?”

A spectacular eyeroll from the other man made Arthur grit his teeth as he locked the car and strode toward the sliding doors, the international terminal a place he’d never been. He waited without looking for Lance to catch up with him, and they slipped through the doors together, a bored looking expression on Lance’s face as he fiddled with the paperwork he was carrying. Arthur let him lead as they approached the counter, Lance’s bags and tickets disappearing rapidly, the bright smile on the attendant’s face plastic and annoying. Arthur huffed and crossed his arms over his chest as he waited, eyes narrowing as Lance jawed with the check in woman, flirting shamelessly, smiling back and laughing.

“You done?” he groused when Lance finally joined him, Lance's long fingered hands threading through his overly floppy hair. “Weren’t you going to get that cut before you flew out?”

Lance was staring at his ticket, his carryon slung over his shoulder, the neat pale cream linen shirt he wore tucked into skinny jeans rising up just enough that his smooth belly showed at the edge. Arthur bit his lip and tried not to be angrier than he already was.

Snatching at Lance’s shirttails, he tugged the other man out of the way of the crowd that was flowing sluggishly toward the security checkpoint. Arthur hated to fly, but he’d been enough times that he knew no matter where you went, the security line was the longest and shittiest part of the trip. This was no exception.

“Which gate are you leaving from?”

Lance was still looking at his ticket; Arthur waited, the crowd surging around them, his simple black button down and jeans sticking to him in the hot, thick air. The doors kept opening and closing, things _binged_ and beeped and people shouted and announcements over the ubiquitous PA system came and went with the frequency of waves at the beach, which is where he really wanted to be. Not here at LAX, waiting for Lancelot to fly out to Europe with his sister, where he’d be for a whole month.  Arthur wanted to act as though he didn't care about the length of the trip, but the longer they stood there, doing nothing, the more agitated and annoyed and hurt he felt.

“Lance!”

“Hrm?” the other man flipped his ticket over and looked at the back. “Gate 19. I need to be there in about thirty minutes.” He slid the packet of papers into his shirt and shoved his hair out of his eyes again, his gaze roving around the crowded airport, dark eyes narrowing at the sight of the security line. “Jesus, is that ridiculous. Maybe I should go now.”  His sigh shot through his nose with enough force to rattle his chest.

“Yeah, probably,” Arthur muttered, face heating, as Lance paid no attention to him. Why in the fuck did Roland have to send Lance to Italy, of all places? And right when they’d just gotten used to where things were, now? He snorted and thrust his hands into his jeans pockets, the quick _snap_ of a few threads breaking bringing his oddly appearing anger out even more, the flush of his skin and the beat of his heart making him more pissed than he already was. Why? What was so bad about this trip? He let his eyes rove and bit the inside of his cheek and didn’t notice that Lance was watching him until he felt the other man’s hand on his jaw line, cool to the overheated flesh.  

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not,” he snapped. “Don’t you need to go?”

“Arthur,” Lance’s epic use of his name was drawn out and low, making places on Arthur’s body tighten that he had no intention of paying any mind to. “You are mad. Why? You going to miss me?”

Arthur resolutely stared over Lancelot’s head, the curly whorls that stood up sharply from Lance’s skull blocking some of Arthur’s view of the security line, which had definitely slowed to a crawl. He felt himself frown as Lance’s smile broadened; he could see it slightly from the corner of his eyes, the white Chiclet teeth perfect and he snarled and met Lance’s eyes. “No,” he answered. “It will be nice and quiet and I get to watch Nova anytime I want.”

A whole month was a long time.  But nope, he wouldn't admit it.

A bigger grin from Lance. Arthur pinched his lips together.

“And no one will use up all the hot water, and I can study in silence in the house, as opposed to having to go to the Bean.”

Wide eyes, laugh lines crinkling at their sides.

“And I can buy peanut butter cups, and there might be some left when I want one.”

“And?”

“And I won’t have to step over clothing strewn all over the floor.”

“What else?”

“And no one will be there that I didn’t invite.”

“Yeah?”

“And I can eat dinner out every night without having to care if they have good booze or not.”

Silence, punctuated by the biggest smirk Arthur had ever seen.

_Flight 890 to Rome will be boarding in exactly 20 minutes. Passengers, please proceed to gate 19 in order to board this flight on time._

“That’s you,” Arthur said tightly. He _wasn’t_ mad.  And it _wasn't_ a long time, no matter his previous thought process.  Well.

The giant grin on Lancelot’s face gradually shifted into a real smile, one that even Arthur rarely saw. Lance set his carryon down on top of his feet, his black loafers shiny and for a moment Arthur wondered if Lance cared that he might scuff them with the bag –

“I may not make it without you for a whole month,” Lance murmured, copying Arthur's unsaid and unwanted thought, his mobile mouth curving gracefully even as _wistful_ rippled over his face, a sigh blowing his breath at Arthur – mint and coffee and lip balm and Arthur sighed as well and let the anger and impatience and hurt drop from his expression as he wound arms around Lance and tugged him to him, his nose dropping into the other man’s crazy hair.

People shouted and moved around them and bumped into their legs with luggage but Arthur only saw Lance’s face and eyes and he raised a hand and touched the other man’s cheek, tracing a finger over the sharp bones hidden by delicate skin, ruddy with excitement. “I don’t think I can, either," _yep, admit it_.  He shook his head and cupped Lance’s jaw in his hand. “Why now?”

Lance leaned into Arthur’s chest; he was about two inches shorter, but Arthur felt like a giant when Lance tucked his head under Arthur’s chin. “Family business. I told you,” he answered softly. His arms tightened around Arthur’s middle and Arthur twisted his lips, memorizing the feel of Lance’s embrace, smelling his hair, counting the heartbeats that thrummed solidly against his. “It’s nothing to do with us.”

Somehow, Arthur didn’t believe that. But he kept his mouth shut as another announcement broke through their reverie – this time reminding passengers they only had 15 minutes to get to their gate.

“Lance, you need to go,” Arthur reluctantly unwound himself from the other man, and bent down, picking up Lance’s carryon and handing it to him. He wanted to toss the bag away and drive both he and Lance back home and then fuck the other man senseless. How dare he leave Arthur when they’d just gotten started, the way things should have been all along? How could he survive, now that he knew what life could offer? A whole month. Shit.

“I love you,” Lance said, carryon over his shoulder, face a sudden mask of misery. “I can’t believe it’ll be a whole month. Fuck.” He took his turn to snort and Arthur saw with a mild sense of horror that Lance’s eyes had turned red and watery. He reached out a hand and grasped Lance’s arm through his loose shirtsleeve, the linen soft and expensive. “Don’t do that,” he pleaded. “You’ll be back before you know it. I’ll be bored to tears while you’re gone. It will be just fine.” He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Arthur,” Lance repeated his name. “Arthur. Arthur Castus, I love you. I’ll miss you so much.” He tightened his grip on his bag with one hand, and with the other, snatched at Arthur’s shirt, dragged him to him, and kissed Arthur like –

like

Arthur’s eyes slipped shut and Lance’s mouth took his and he shuddered and reached out for him, an ache rising in his gut he couldn’t explain.

Lance was gone from his hands, and when Arthur opened his eyes, Lance was in the security line, which had miraculously sped up. Arthur tracked him as he wound through the line, following as closely as he could, watching Lance’s papers being checked, watching as he went through the body scan, watching him as he smiled at the guards and put his shoes back on, and watching him as he picked up his bag and unzipped it and pulled something out.

A glass partition separated the travelers from their stay at home counterparts, and Arthur trailed along it as Lance walked on the other side, smiling, writing something with his finger on the iPad he’d pulled from his bag. Travelers surged around him, the shops behind Lance full of people and junky trinkets and food and all kinds of crap Arthur didn’t even know existed –

And he stopped and put his hands on the glass as Lance grinned and shoved hair out of his face and held up the sign he’d just made on his tablet as he walked sideways toward his gate, eyes never leaving Arthur’s face.

_Don’t eat all the peanut butter cups._

_I love you, my Arthur._

Arthur’s smile made his face hurt, pulling muscles he hadn’t known he had. He touched his fingertips to his mouth gently and then to his shirt, over his heart.

He watched as Lance waved at him and finally disappeared from sight down the long corridor that lead to the gates and the waiting planes. He watched until the board registered that Lance’s Air Italia flight had taken off safely, and he watched until the security line dwindled to nothing and the people that had been rushing about all seemed to have made it to where they were going.

He turned finally and made his way back to his car, the smell of Lance lingering in the leather seats, a single sock and a paperback book – damn it, Arthur _knew_ he’d forget it – sitting haphazardly in the back along with his jacket and helmet. Checking his rearview mirrors and clicking his seatbelt closed, Arthur checked left, then right, and then behind him.

Putting the car in gear, he jammed on the brakes as he was halfway out of the space, his eyes tearing, his throat full. He laughed shakily and wiped his eyes with his square hands, the silence that filled the car ominous and weird.

It was going to be a long four weeks.

On the way home he swung by the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf and picked up supplies for the week, indulging his _sorry for myself_ mood and also getting a mocha chip frap. He sucked the sweet thing down slowly, savoring the taste, unusual for him and so like Lancelot. He laughed bitterly, lips chilled by the slush of the drink, when he realized he was imagining sharing it with the other man.

Passing a Trader Joes, he hesitated, then pulled into the parking lot. The place was jammed, but he made it in and out in record time, and arrived at their apartment a little after eight, Nova just coming on as he dropped his keys on the kitchen table and turned the tv on.

He figured Lance would text him once he arrived, and placed his phone carefully on the arm of the couch. Changing clothing, he plopped to his butt and tried to focus on the show, an episode he’d never seen, features earthquakes and Nature's Worst Disasters. Perfect.

After about thirty minutes he got up, pulled the candy he’d bought out of the sacks from Trader Joes, and ate half a bag of peanut butter cups before he realized what he was doing.


End file.
